Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Banquet at Hongmen (Part One)

After Emperor Wen of Han died and the young emperor ascended the throne, Dong Zhuo seized control of the court, monopolizing the reins of government. He kept the young emperor and Empress Dowager He in the dark, excluding them from all state affairs, great and small, which he managed alone. Though still a child, the young emperor understood the situation well enough, and his eyes were seldom dry from weeping. One day, catching sight of two swallows flying together in the courtyard, he was moved to compose a poem:

Tender grass shrouded in misty green,
Two swallows spiral in graceful flight.
The Luo River runs clear and blue,
On the road, people gaze in envy.
Far off, deep within azure clouds,
Stand the palaces I once called home.
Who will take up loyalty and righteousness,
And voice the grievances locked in my heart?

Since Dong Zhuo’s arrival, the winds of change in Luoyang had grown ever more tempestuous. Dong Zhuo’s arrogance had become utterly unrestrained. Though last time he sent his trusted general Hua Xiong to provoke Zifan, only for Hua Xiong to be soundly beaten, and the matter quietly faded away, Dong Zhuo made no further mention of it. Yet the Xiliang cavalry encamped by the Luo River remained on constant alert, training day and night, the air thick with cries of war. The tens of thousands of troops who had rushed from Xiliang to Luoyang testified that Dong Zhuo was playing a grand game, with the empire as his chessboard and the ministers as his pieces. The entire court, both high and low, was gripped by fear.

Just as everyone was on edge, Dong Zhuo played his first card: he invited the high ministers to a banquet. Squads of fully armed Xiliang soldiers marched through the city, visiting each minister’s residence. Without waiting for any protest, they forced invitations brimming with “affection” into the hands of each minister. The ministers dared not utter a word of refusal, lest they be torn to pieces by the Xiliang guards on the spot.

Zifan, commanding the formidable Youzhou army—one of the few remaining powers in Luoyang—was naturally on Dong Zhuo’s guest list. Yet, in stark contrast to the other ministers, the envoy sent to Zifan was exceptionally courteous, placing the invitation reverently in his hands and speaking with utmost respect—a sharp distinction from the treatment of the rest. What was Dong Zhuo’s true purpose, and what was he scheming? The more polite he acted, the more hidden his intentions seemed.

The invitation itself was unique, both in its elegant packaging and its unusually polite wording:

“To General Zifan, from Dong Zhuo, Governor of Xiliang. Though it has only been days since we last met, it feels as though years have passed. The sight of your valor remains vivid in my mind. As the saying goes, ‘heroes admire heroes.’ To have witnessed your martial prowess is a blessing for me. Tomorrow, I shall host a grand banquet at court for the ministers. I hope General Zifan will do me the honor of attending.”

The tone overflowed with praise for Zifan, seemingly sincere, but surely there was more beneath the surface.

Dong Zhuo was known throughout his life for his brutality, greed, and ambition. That he could manipulate the central government to serve his own desires only proved he was far from a simple man. Overnight, Dong Zhuo transformed from a mere regional governor of Xiliang into the most powerful minister of the realm, with even the emperor himself forced to heed his every whim—a testament to his cunning, unmatched by ordinary men.

His name was synonymous with savagery and tyranny, a wolfish, ruthless villain, the likes of whom had rarely been seen since the first written records. Yet few knew that Dong Zhuo, in his youth, was strong of body, a master archer, able to ride and shoot from either hand, famed among his people and even among the nomadic tribes.

Meanwhile, in the Xiliang military camp, Dong Zhuo’s heart was still unsettled, his mind wavering, for this was no small matter. Once more, he summoned his counselor, Li Ru.

Dong Zhuo stroked his chin, still hesitating in his heart, for the matter of deposing the emperor was momentous indeed. Catching sight of Li Ru hurrying over, he seized him impatiently. “Wenyou!” he exclaimed. “Are the plans for the abdication in order? A single misstep and all will be lost.”

Dong Zhuo spoke first. “Although the young emperor Liu Bian is muddle-headed and timid, lacking any real ability, his brother, Prince Liu Xie of Chenliu, is intelligent and capable, with a commanding presence. If I were to enthrone Liu Xie, I fear the senior ministers would not accept it.”

“My lord is a wise man,” Li Ru replied. “Those who accomplish great deeds do not fret over trifles. Besides, nothing ventured, nothing gained. The empire is in chaos, the court leaderless. Now is the time to depose Liu Bian and enthrone Liu Xie, and this offers several advantages. First, it will reveal who in the court truly supports you, and who opposes you, so you can eliminate dissenters and secure your position. Second, if you make Prince Chenliu emperor, he will surely be grateful for your immense favor, and will rely on you even more. Moreover, women are easily swayed and lack discernment; in the end, control of the court will rest with you. At tomorrow’s banquet, anyone who does not comply—cut them down, root and branch, leaving no threat behind.” As he finished, Li Ru drew his hand across his throat in a silent gesture.

Dong Zhuo burst out laughing. “Ha ha ha! You are indeed the clever one! You have resolved all the doubts in my mind, and now I am at ease. Still, I notice that Princess Taiping has reached the age for marriage. If I could become a royal son-in-law of the Han dynasty—such a beauty… Ha ha ha… I am coming for you…”

The next morning, Zifan donned his armor and prepared for the day. Personally selecting a squad of elite soldiers to accompany him to the banquet, he instructed Ding Feng before leaving: for safety’s sake, keep the camp ready for battle at all times, armor on and horses saddled, so that should anything go awry, they could mobilize swiftly and come to his aid. After all, with a fiend like Dong Zhuo, whose moods were unpredictable, there was no telling whether he might turn the banquet into a massacre. Others might not dare such a thing, but Dong Zhuo was not one to shrink from any crime in pursuit of power.

Along the route to the banquet, the assembled ministers all wore expressions of panic and terror, yet it seemed some invisible force was drawing them inexorably forward.

Fear of death—the oppression of Dong Zhuo’s military might, the dread that any offense might provoke his wrath and lead to their own execution. Yet another force was at work: self-interest. In this world, profit is the driving force behind all human action. Just because one does not struggle or compete does not mean others will do the same. Reputation is not the greatest thing in the world; sometimes, pride must be set aside. As the saying goes, “Distance tests a horse’s strength, time reveals a man’s heart.” Before self-interest, all men wear masks.

Now, with Dong Zhuo’s arrival, the chains of profit in Luoyang had been utterly shattered. The power of the aristocrats, the imperial in-laws, and the eunuchs was waning. Their endless intrigues had left them gravely weakened, and now no one could stand against Dong Zhuo.

In the face of profit, who speaks of friendship, rules, virtue, or morality? To obtain what they seek, men change their principles as easily as their clothes—truly, a thing to marvel at.

When profit is at stake, some will risk their very lives. Outside the great hall, Minister Wang Yun wore a troubled look, while the brothers Yuan Shu and Yuan Shao had already arrived. Both were scheming to perfection, for their rivalry for profit was known to all, and neither held the other in any esteem.